


What Happened?

by AZGirl



Series: Musketeers - Season 1 [10]
Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Episode: s01e09 Knight Takes Queen, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:11:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AZGirl/pseuds/AZGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aramis had awakened multiple times and, aside from the lapses in short-term memory, seemed to be intact mentally, but his friends were no less worried about him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happened?

**Author's Note:**

> This one fought me tooth and nail despite the fact that I had the idea for it almost immediately. Many thanks to mojsengojs for all the help!

**ooooooo**

_“If I ever complain about an assignment not being exciting enough –”  
_

_“I’ll punch you so hard; you’ll beg me to kick you.”  
_

_—Aramis & Athos, 1.09 Knight Takes Queen._

ooooooo 

Aramis fought his way out of the darkness, not knowing how long he’d already been imprisoned there. 

When he finally escaped the darkness, he was thrust into a world of light as he opened his eyes. Immediately, he regretted having departed a place where he’d been at peace to one which pain sought to steal his breath. The whole right side of his head pounded in rhythm with his heart and it felt as though the light was repeatedly stabbing daggers through his each of eyes. 

He must have made a sound because suddenly someone was beside him. It took him a moment or two to banish his blurry vision. 

“D’Artagnan? What happened?” Aramis rasped, trying to ignore how thirsty he was. 

The Gascon saw his friend’s need and helped him to drink some water before telling him what had happened. D’Artagnan was happy that Aramis was able to hold a reasonably coherent conversation for a couple of minutes before sleep once more overtook him. 

A couple of hours later, Porthos entered the room, his eyes immediately searching out the still form on the bed. 

“How is he?” he asked d’Artagnan who was sitting in a chair next to the bed cleaning his pistol. 

D’Artagnan stood and returned the pistol to the belt around his waist and gathering his cleaning materials. He smirked and said, “Aramis woke for a few minutes about an hour ago and a couple of other times before that. He knew my name and other facts about us but still asked what happened.” 

“So he doesn’t remember the other times when you told him that he—?” Porthos asked as he removed his sword from around his waist and leaned it up again the bedpost. 

“Nope,” the younger man interrupted, hoping to avoid accidentally revealing the prank he’d played. “How many times does that make?” 

Porthos sat down in the recently vacated chair, “Dunno; I lost track.” 

“Are you sure we don’t need to find a physician?” D’Artagnan wasn’t confident that they should be so blasé about Aramis’s mishap. 

“Nah, I had a concussion just as nasty once, and Aramis said it was normal to forget things for a while.” 

The younger man nodded and opened the door. “If you’re sure?” he asked, still worried for his friend. 

Porthos gestured for d’Artagnan to leave. 

Nearly fifteen minutes later, Porthos was wishing he’d brought something to do during his watch; it was his second time and he should have remembered how boring the first time was with no one to talk to. 

At first, they’d all stayed with Aramis while his condition had remained uncertain. Since then, Aramis had awakened multiple times and, aside from the lapses in short-term memory, seemed to be intact mentally, but his friends were no less worried about him. They decided that they would maintain their continuous vigil until their marksman could stay awake for more than ten minutes at a time. 

He moved his chair so he could put his feet up on the bed and settled down to try and catch a short nap. At the last second, he laid a hand on Aramis’s shoulder so that he would know if his friend were to awaken. Aramis stirred just as he’s about to drift off to sleep; he shifted to sit up straight and awaited his friend’s most recent return to consciousness. 

Aramis blinked several times as if he was trying to clear his vision, and Porthos mused that the other man probably wouldn’t be able to hit the broadside of a building with his musket at the present moment. 

“Porthos? What happened?” 

Porthos winced at the rough-sounding voice and reached for the mug of water sitting on top of the bedside table. Knowing Aramis was expecting an answer, and remembering that his friend would probably not recall anything he said, Porthos made what swiftly became an unwise decision. 

“You fell and hit your head while trying to escape a cuckolded husband.” 

Aramis looked confused and his brow furrowed as if he was trying and failing to remember the name of the woman. 

“Escaped? Good. Don’t wan’ hang,” he mumbled so quietly that Porthos almost missed what he’d said. 

“Hang?!” Porthos exclaimed as a shiver worked its way down his spine. His mind went blank when he tried to think why one of his best friends would be so worried about being hanged. “Aramis, what—?” 

He looked down only to discover that the other man had fallen asleep once more. Shocked at Aramis’s reaction to what was supposed to be a joke brought on by boredom, he had taken too long to ask his question and knew he had lost the opportunity to find out what his friend had meant. God only knew how long it would be before he would have a chance to follow-up on this new mystery, but more than likely Aramis would not even remember any part of the conversation they’d just had. 

Porthos tried to get comfortable again, but he couldn’t. It was impossible to stop thinking about how Aramis could be in danger. He stood and started pacing the room back and forth, over and over again, while his mind worked through what little he knew. 

The conclusion he eventually came up with was so implausible and yet so _Aramis_ , that he immediately recognized he had come upon the correct solution to the mystery. He stopped midstride and wondered how in the hell his friend could have _ever_ thought…  

He would not let his mind go there for one second more; for that way led to death and he could not abide the idea of losing one, or more likely two, of his brothers. If he has figured this mystery out, then Athos certainly had knowledge of it as well; Athos had either figured it out or had somehow caught them in the act. 

Porthos shook his head, hoping to dislodge the knowledge he’s recently gained from his brain. It didn’t work, but it did serve as a temporary distraction for which he was thankful. 

He had a difficult decision to make. Should he let on about what he had figured out or should he keep it to himself? 

The confession, such as it was, had been made while Aramis was barely awake and still half out of his head. Had anyone else heard the words, they would not have made the connection that he’d made. The _only_ reason he’d figured it out based on so little information was because he knew Aramis so well. 

He stood there quite a while and weighed his options. He eventually decided that he would pretend ignorance until Aramis chose to confide in him. With everything else going on, even thinking about this insanity would be dangerous for all of them. It would be better for all of them that he forgot what he had guessed. Besides, there was still a chance that he could be wrong. 

Nodding his head at his decision, he moved to resume his seat next to Aramis’s bed. It took him a long time before he was able to relax once more. 

Porthos made the decision, that when Aramis next awakened, he would make another attempt to play the joke on his injured friend, hoping it would cheer him up. 

“Porthos? What happened?” 

Suddenly, he was hit with the realization of how absurd it was to be so relieved by Aramis’s continued memory loss, but he was, and Porthos recognized that he and his friends were better off in the end because of it. 

Because it had backfired so spectacularly before, he nearly balked at going through with the trick meant to relieve his renewed boredom, but in the end he gave in, thinking Aramis would likely do something similar if their roles had been reversed. 

Porthos schooled his expression and replied, “Went out celebratin’ and tried the melon trick again. I missed.” 

“You missed?” Aramis questioned, clearly not believing what he’d heard. 

The expression on his injured friend’s face was worth any potential future retribution, and he had to fight not to have his face give the game away. 

“Yeah. Sorry,” Porthos replied, making sure to sound extremely remorseful. 

“S’alright,” Aramis said and managed a few mouthfuls of broth before he drifted back to asleep. 

Porthos leaned back in his chair only to be startled by the sound of the door closing. He looked up to see Athos, who had obviously come to take over for him. 

Athos raised an eyebrow and said, “Porthos,” sounding disapproving of what he’d apparently overheard. 

“What? It ain’t like he’s going to remember what I said. Why not have a little fun?” Porthos defended. 

His stoic friend continued to glare at him for a moment before he smirked slightly and asked, “And if he does remember?” 

Porthos shrugged and then laughed. “Then I’ll tell ‘im the truth. No harm done.” A grin still on his face, he stood and grabbed his sword on his way to the door. “He’d probably even find it funny.” 

Athos inclined his head slightly in agreement. “Probably.” 

He was in the middle of reading Drayton’s poem about the battle of Agincourt when Aramis next returned to consciousness. 

“Athos? What happened?” 

He had hoped that Aramis would be more in his right mind by now, but he was reminded that head injuries could be difficult to predict. Athos opened his mouth to repeat the story of how Aramis had come by his concussion, but instead he gave in to Porthos’s idea of having a little bit of fun. 

“You declared that our mission was boring, so I hit you – hard. Too hard it appears, for here we are.” 

“Did I beg you to kick me?” Aramis inquired with a small smile on his face. 

“No,” Athos replied, suddenly realizing that his bedridden friend was much more coherent than the previous times he had been witness to thus far. 

Aramis’s smile grew wider and he indicated that he wanted to sit up in the bed. 

When Athos had finished helping him settle into the new position, Aramis said, “I guess you didn’t hit me hard enough then.” 

“There is always next time,” Athos deadpanned. 

“Indeed,” the sharpshooter said with a chuckle. “Athos?” 

Athos made a sound to indicate that he was listening. 

“I have had these strange dreams recently. In one, I fell off my horse after shooting a bird that looked like a red grosbeak. In the other, Porthos tried to shoot a melon off my head but he misses, causing me to fall down a well.” 

“Curious,” Athos stated, trying not to give away the fact that he was aware that Porthos was responsible for at least one of those dreams. He then began to wonder what d’Artagnan had been telling Aramis and whether or not Porthos had encouraged the exaggerated explanations. 

“Athos?” Aramis queried with a knowing look on his face. It’s not like there was a long list of suspects for the source of the strange dreams. “What _really_ happened?” 

With a slight shake of his head and raised eyebrows, Athos explained, “You tripped on a loose cobblestone and went head first into a fountain.” 

Disbelief crossed his features as Aramis tried to remember the incident. “Really?” 

A single nod of the head was paired with Athos’s verbal confirmation, “Really.” 

Aramis issued a lengthy groan of despair that was slightly muffled by the hands covering his face. 

“I’m never going to live this down, am I?” 

“Probably not.” 

**ooooooo**

_The end._

**ooooooo**

**Author's Note:**

> Just a reminder: I have not seen episode 10 yet and have no idea who knows what or when they know it. Please don’t spoil anything for me. Thanks!
> 
> I’m obviously not a medical professional, so I hope you’ll forgive the inaccuracies you likely found above.
> 
> Athos’s poem: It really exists. I wanted him to be reading something contemporary to the time and found mention of "The Battaile of Agincourt" by an English poet named Michael Drayton (published in 1627). It seemed logical to me that Athos would be interested in the non-French point of view of that battle. 
> 
> Red grosbeak : In case it wasn’t immediately clear, the bird represents Cardinal Richelieu. My research indicated that cardinals are not native to/found in France. The closest I could quickly find was the grosbeak which is in the same “form classification” as a cardinal (in this case, both birds are seed eating and have large beaks). The pine grosbeck in particular can be red in color so I changed the name a bit to fit the story. 
> 
> No beta; mistakes are inevitable. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
